Half a League Onward
by Tez
Summary: How do you fix a lifetime's worth of regrets in what little is left of your lifetime? JW
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Sadly, Crossing Jordan does not belong to me.

A/N: I blame my last seminar class for this one. I realize that any sane person, confronted with Jordan's situation, would get a second opinion. However, Jordan doesn't exactly fall into the 'any sane person' category. Besides, then the story would have been shorter and much less angsty.

* * *

_Glioblastoma__ multiforme: __the most common and aggressive type of primary brain tumor, accounting for 52 percent of all primary brain tumors symptoms of the disease include seizure, headache, hemiparesis,_ _impairment of sensation and/or balance, nausea, vomiting,__ and personality change...the 5 year survival rate of the disease has remained unchanged over the past 30 years, and stands at less than three percent…even with complete resection of the tumor, combined with the best available treatment, less than 25 percent survive more than 5 years. _

Jordan closed her old Neuropathology textbook, setting it down numbly on her coffee table. She'd remembered correctly. GBM had been the topic of one of her seminar classes in medical school, but it had been so long ago…she'd hoped maybe she'd remembered it as being worse than it actually was.

She sank down onto the couch, pulling her knees up to her chest and remembering how all of this had started. She'd been stressed out at work due to the rash of homicides in East Boston over the past three weeks, and when she was stressed she tended to get tension headaches. Garret had finally caught her in the break room, downing three times the recommended dose of Excedrin, and had insisted that she see a doctor. She'd laughed, telling him that she _was_ a doctor and she could handle herself. Three days and two bottles of asprin later, he'd bullied her into getting an MRI done on her lunch hour, just to make sure there wasn't anything really wrong with her. She'd agreed, but on the condition that she was the one who read the MRI film and not some random radiologist over at BUMC.

She was staring at that film now, holding it up to her lamp with trembling fingers as she tried to come to terms with the image depicted on it. On the film, nestled against the dark shadow of her brain, were twelve white lesions, differing in shape and size but sharing one crucial identifying factor: they were tumors. Her best guess for a specific diagnosis was glioblastoma multiforme, although the gold standard for determining that diagnosis was actual dissection of the tumors in a pathology lab.

Jordan snorted at the thought, darkly amused. They'd be able to confirm her self-diagnosis soon enough. From the infiltration of the tumors shown by the scan, she was pretty sure she wouldn't live much longer. She'd seen milder cases send patients to the morgue. If she managed to stay alive for another month, she'd consider herself lucky.

"Lucky," she said aloud, and a hysterical giggle escaped her at the sheer irony of it. _Lucky_. She had cancer. She was dying. How lucky could she possibly be?

She looked at the MRI film again, as though if she looked hard enough, she might find some answer, some explanation, some _reason_ for it.

"I'm going to die." The words rang hollow in her ears. She was only thirty-three years old. How could she just – just _die_, just like that?

But people did, she knew. They died all the time, just like that. Jordan knew that better than anyone. It was part of her job.

Throwing down the film and pushing away the mental image of herself on an autopsy table, Jordan leapt off of the couch, stalking back and forth across the room. She was full of pent-up emotion, not sure if she was angry or shocked or horrified or terrified by the incontrovertible truth depicted in black and white on the flimsy sheet of MRI film.

"What now?" she whispered to herself, realizing suddenly how small her voice sounded in the still silence of her living room. How insignificant…how fragile. "God, what am I supposed to do now?"


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Crossing Jordan and I probably never will.

A/N: The more of this story I write, the more depressing it gets.

* * *

She sat at the window, staring blankly down at the street below. There were people passing outside, hurrying home to get out of the cold. Two children ran past, lobbing snowballs at each other and shrieking with gleeful abandon. 

_It's funny_, she thought, watching the snow fall faster, _the way the rest of the world just keeps going, even though my world is shattered. I wonder how long they'll remember me after I'm gone. _

The thought was a sobering one. She had no husband, no children, and an absentee father. Friends she had, yes, but how long could they really be expected to remember her? They had their own lives, their own cares and concerns, and sooner or later the memory of Jordan Cavanaugh would fade away, replaced by new memories of new friends. And if they didn't forget her, what was she leaving them to remember her by? She didn't want to be recalled as the impetuous troublemaker who ran roughshod over everything and everyone in her path in order to find the truth.

If they were going to remember anything about her, she wanted it to be that, although she'd always held the truth as paramount, she had loved her friends. She loved Nigel's brashness and wry sense of humor, Lily's kindness and Bug's brisk manner that masked his inner generosity. She loved having Garret as a boss and mentor, the love of jazz and the priceless advice he'd shared with her over the years. And Woody – God help her, she loved him. She loved him, period, and knowing that she'd never get the chance to tell him left her raw and bleeding inside. There were so many things she would have to leave unsaid and undone…

"No," she said aloud, shaking her head firmly to dispel the thought. "No. There's still time…"

And so she made a list. Sitting at the coffee table in her cozy one-bedroom apartment, Jordan Cavanaugh listed all of her life's regrets: all of the things she'd never done and wanted to, and some of the things she'd done and later regretted. She'd never stood on home base in Fenway Park. She'd never stayed the night at the Wyndham hotel, the oldest skyscraper in Boston and, to her thinking, the most beautiful building in the city. She'd started but never finished reading Swann's Way, having neglected the literary classics after starting medical school so many years ago.

All of these made the list, and then she added the regrets that hurt the most. She'd never told her friends how much they meant to her. She'd never laid her mother's murder to rest. She'd never made love to Woody.

When she was finished, she had a list with fourteen bullet points. Fourteen things that needed to be done or said or fixed before she would be satisfied with the life she was leaving behind.

"Two a day," she decided, nodding slowly. "One more week. And then…"

And then she would give herself over to the business of dying. Dying of brain cancer, however, was not pleasant. She could expect the onset of seizures, memory loss, and personality changes. If she suffered a stroke, which was fairly likely, she might be paralyzed. Jordan abhored the very thought of it. That wasn't the way she wanted to die.

Fortunately, she had a choice. Jordan was a licensed, board-certified doctor, and although she was a medical examiner by trade, she still had the ability to write prescriptions. It would be easy for her to obtain a sedative, an overdose of which would allow her to go peacefully to sleep and not wake up again. There was no need for her to suffer.

Feeling more in control now that she'd managed to make a plan, she reached for the phone. First she'd call in the prescription and then she'd get started on her list. The sooner she started, the lower the chance that the disease would catch up to her before she finished righting the wrongs in her life.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Crossing Jordan. If I did, they'd have better medical consulants.

A/N: My God, an update! It can't be! No, seriously…I was so floored that the actual show STOLE MY IDEA that I figured I'd better show them how it's done. And can I just add that, as a medical student, the idea of Jordan, who is supposed to be an MD, being such an incredible wuss about a meningioma, which is a surgically treatable _benign _tumor, really gets on my nerves. I gave her a serious brain tumor, at least. And meningiomas cannot cause relapsing-remitting visual symptoms and grow around the common carotid artery at the same time. The common carotid bifurcates before it even gets to the brain. Get with the program, NBC!

* * *

She started with Nigel. He'd been her friend since the first day she'd walked into the morgue, still off-balance from her 'accidental' overdose and the loss of the residency position she'd worked toward for almost five years. Nigel had been kind to her – had simply been himself around her – and because of that, she owed him her life and her sanity a hundred times over.

"Nige?"

"Good morning, love," he greeted her warmly, looking up from his computer and raising an eyebrow at the dark circles under her eyes. "You look worn out. Big case?"

"No," she disclaimed, shaking her head as she closed the door behind her. "Nige, can I talk to you?"

"Uh-oh," he said, turning his chair away from his desk to face her. "This sounds like trouble."

"I just want to tell you something." At his raised eyebrow, she took a deep breath. The speech she'd so carefully rehearsed escaped her, and she reached desperately for the right words.

"Jordan?" he asked, concerned, and she shook her head.

"Thank you."

"For what, love?"

"For being you. Nige, you amaze me. I wish I knew how to have as much fun with life as you do. I wish I could enjoy things…_believe_ in things the way you do."

"Jordan," he murmured, flattered and confused, but she shook her head.

"Don't ask me to explain, please. I just – I had to tell you that. And…do me a favor?"

"For you, love? Anything."

"When you find the lucky woman you're going to marry and have a bunch of kids, name one of the boys Nigel. Make it a family tradition." She smiled through her tears, standing on her tiptoes to press a kiss to the point of his chin; he was so much taller than her that it was all she could reach. "I can't stand the thought of there ever being a world without a Nigel Townsend in it."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: A few short chapters, and then I'll get to the good stuff!

* * *

After talking to Nigel, she'd found that her goodbyes really did get easier to say. Her talks with Bug and the rest of the morgue staff had been mostly uneventful, and she'd even managed to giggle over office gossip with Lily the way she'd always meant to, but had never found the time for. Now, however, she was headed for the only person in the morgue she hadn't spoken to yet, and she could already feel tears pricking at her eyes. This would be harder than all of the others put together.

Biting her lip, she rapped hesitantly on his door before slipping into his office.

"Garret?"

"Not now, Jordan," he snapped without turning around, throwing the file he was holding onto his desk and grabbing the ringing phone. "Macy…no, take care of it now!"

He slammed the phone back down onto the receiver, looking up to find Jordan still standing in his doorway. He fully intended to yell at her to find something more constructive to do than bothering him; it had been one of those days, and he didn't need Jordan going off on one of her obsessive-compulsive tangents. The words died in his mouth when he caught sight of the look on her face.

"What's wrong, Jordan?" he asked, remembering a time when she'd asked him the same question and deciding to steal her line. "You look like you work in a morgue or something."

She tried to smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Garret…there's something I have to tell you."

He motioned her into his office, sighing inwardly. Yes, it was definitely one of those days.

"Talk, Jordan."

Jordan took a deep breath, looking up at the man who had been like a father to her for nearly a decade, and the words just spilled out.

"I love you."

He stared blankly at her, and she let out a nervous laugh.

"Come on, Garret, not like _that_. I just – you've been there for me beyond all sane expectations. You gave me a job; more than once you saved my career. You're a great boss, Garret. I've learned a lot from you." She sniffled, giving him a weak smile. "And besides, you're my bestest girlfriend."

He snorted at the reference to their ongoing joke, coming over to stand in front of her.

"Jordan, I appreciate your saying all of this, but what is this about? Are you in some kind of trouble?"

She shrugged, ignoring his second question. "You're one of the most important people in my life," she replied, "and I realized I'd never told you. So now I am. Telling you."

He watched her for another moment, trying to figure out the impetus behind her words. All he could see in her eyes was affection mingling with trepidation. Sighing, he threw his arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug.

"I love you too, Jordan," he told her firmly, resting his chin on the top of her head. "You drive me crazy, and I worry about you even more than I worry about Abby, but I love you."

She returned the embrace, and it was a long few moments before she'd pulled herself together enough to step back.

"You headed home?" he asked, noticing the bag slung over her shoulder, and she nodded. "Good. Get some sleep, will you? You look tired."

"I'll be fine," she lied blithely, pausing at the door to give him a wan smile. "You don't have to worry about me, Garret."

"You're right," he agreed, taking in the defeated set of her shoulders and knowing full well that something deeper was going on here. Sooner or later, he knew, he'd get it out of her, even if it meant he had to let her denial slide tonight. "I don't have to. I do anyway."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

* * *

Dry leaves crunched beneath her feet as she walked the familiar path between the well-tended rows of gray slabs. She made her way to the fourteenth row from the entrance, three headstones to the right of the path, and knelt down to trace her fingertips along her mother's name.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I never figured out who killed you…I've looked my whole life, but I've never found the answer." She inhaled slowly, feeling the sting of the crisp Massachusetts air all the way down into her lungs. She'd miss that; feeling the sharp, telltale cold in the air that signaled the coming of the first big snowstorm of the year. She wondered longingly whether her mother had loved the turn of the seasons the way she did. "But I think I know now that it doesn't matter. My quest to find the truth, to find your killer…it was mostly about me. I wanted some way to hold on to you, to keep you in my thoughts and in my life, and that was the only way I knew how.

"It has to change now. I have to leave this behind. I'm dying, and I don't want to leave this world feeling guilty about letting you down. I know that wherever you are, you've been watching me, and you know I've done my best. From what I remember about you, that's all you would have asked of me. I – I hope that if you _are_ watching me, you're proud of the person I've become. I have my share of problems, I know, but I've always tried to do the right thing. I hope that in the end, that's what really matters."

Jordan set the daisies she'd been carrying down gently at the head of her mother's grave, caressing the petals before rising to her feet.

"I love you, Mom," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. "I love you, and I've never forgotten about you. Now I have to go, but…" Her voice broke, and she laid a trembling hand on the cold headstone. "But don't worry. We'll be together again soon."


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine now either.

A/N: The document upload feature is _finally _working! Huzzah! Now you can have W/J angst!

* * *

She stood in front of his door, hand poised to knock, and wondered for the millionth time whether or not this was a good idea. She could just slip the envelope under his door and get the hell out of Dodge, and he'd never have to know why she'd actually come here. It was selfish, horribly selfish, to want to use him like this and then run away…but didn't she deserve to be selfish? Didn't she deserve to have even one night with him before she gave in to the inevitable?

With a sudden surge of determination, she knocked on the door, and three breaths later she was face to face with the man who should have been the love of her life.

"Can I come in?"

Woody stepped aside, gesturing silently for Jordan to move past him into his apartment. He closed the door behind her, setting his hands on his hips as he took in her uncertain stance. He was puzzled by her timid body language, so far from her usual defiant posturing, and his heart sank when he realized what it had to mean. Jordan acting unusual meant Jordan in trouble, and trouble for Jordan always turned into a crisis for Woody.

"Look, Jordan," he began, taking hold of her upper arms and turning her to face him. "It's been a really long week, so if you're here to kick back and have a beer, count me in. But if this is some crazy crusade, I have to tell you, I really don't have the – mmph –"

She cut him off effectively by pressing her lips to his. The kiss, awkward at first, deepened as his hands moved from her arms to her back, pulling her closer to him. When he realized what they were doing – what he was doing with Jordan, who he'd been head over heels in love with since the day he met her – Woody pulled away.

"Jordan, what –" he started to ask, breathless. She pressed a finger to his lips to silence him, then traced his bottom lip softly with her fingertip. He groaned, his hands tightening on her waist, and she smiled tentatively up at him.

"Kiss me again?"

A thousand warning bells were going off in his head, but when Jordan's fingers brushed against the nape of his neck, he decided to ignore the warning in favor of leaning in and kissing her with the pent-up passion of more than two years' worth of unrequited longing. They made their way over to the couch, neither one willing to pull away long enough to look where they were going, and suddenly the backs of Woody's legs collided with the edge of the sofa. He fell onto the cushions with a grunt of surprise, and Jordan tumbled into his lap.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," he told her, cupping her cheek tenderly. "You?"

"Better than," she whispered, and recaptured his mouth with hers. Her hands slipped between their bodies and she pulled back just long enough to tug his t-shirt over his head, tossing it negligently across the room. They kissed again, and then it was Woody's turn to pull away. Jordan raised her arms obediently, expecting him to take off her shirt in return, but his fingers paused on the hem.

"What's wrong?" she asked, confused. He shook his head, his blue eyes troubled.

"Jordan, I can't do this if it doesn't mean something to you."

She frowned, lowering her arms and folding them defensively across her chest.

"Of course it means something. What, do you think this is just a one night stand for me?" She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth; while the encounter she had planned was anything but meaningless, it would only be for one night. Hearing it out loud and having to face the realization of how little time she really had left was almost physically painful.

"Then what is it, Jordan?"

A tear slipped down her cheek. Woody caught it with his thumb, brushing it gently away.

"They say you always regret the things you don't do more than the things you do," she said softly. "I don't want to regret you, Woody. I don't want to regret _us_. I love you."

The expression on his face was priceless. If there had been any humor left in Jordan's body, she might have laughed for the sheer joy of it.

"Jordan," he said, and her name sounded like a prayer on his lips. "Jordan…I've always loved you."

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and she raised her arms again.

"Show me."

* * *

They lay together under the covers of his bed, enveloped in a sated warmth more complete than anything she'd ever felt before. She closed her eyes, wondering why she hadn't given in to her feelings years before. They could have had so much more time…

"Jordan?"

"Hmm?"

"Would you…promise me?"

"Promise you what?"

"That you won't run away."

She took a deep breath. She couldn't make him a false promise. Not after tonight.

"I promise you that I want to be with you," she said finally, snuggling closer to him. "And I promise that I never want to leave you."

Woody nodded slowly, kissing the top of her head as his eyelids grew heavy.

"It's a deal," he told her, letting his eyes fall shut and inhaling the soft scent of her as the exertions of the night caught up to him. "I'll see you in the morning."

She closed her eyes against the lie and countered it with the only truth that mattered anymore.

"I love you, Woody."

He smiled at the heartfelt words, happier than he'd ever believed he could be.

"I love you, Jordan."

Her arms tightened around him, and she tilted her head back to keep the tears that were gathering in her eyes from falling onto his bare chest. In silence she waited, watching him fall asleep with a tenderness she hadn't known she was capable of feeling. Once she was sure he was sleeping, she extricated herself from his arms and his bed, knowing that the chill she felt wasn't entirely due to the loss of his body heat or the cool night air coming in through the window. This was it…the end of the best and truest relationship she'd ever had, with the only man she'd ever been able to trust with her heart. As she wrapped her arms around herself to still her shivering, she realized, with the kind of black amusement that stemmed only from complete dispair, that at least she wouldn't have to live without him for long.

After pulling on her clothes, she tiptoed back over to the bed. She laid a gentle kiss on his forehead, and he sighed but didn't wake.

"I love you," she whispered again, memorizing the way the shadows played across his face. She knew this was the last time she would see him, and she wanted to remember every moment of it.

He stirred slightly, his fingers twitching toward the empty spot next to him, and she straightened. It was time. She walked into the living room, ignoring the tears streaming down her cheeks and setting the envelope with his name on it down on the end table where he'd be sure to see it the next morning, when he woke up and found her gone.

As she turned the doorknob, she wavered. She _could_ stay…he would care for her, she knew, for however long she managed to stay alive. But in the end, that wasn't how she wanted him to remember her: sick and dying in a hospital bed, covered in tubes and medical equipment. She wanted the memory of this night to stay with him so that the best parts of her, the parts she'd shared with him, would be the parts that lived on. That was the legacy she wanted to leave behind.

Head held high, Jordan opened the front door, stepping out of the apartment and out of Woody Hoyt's life forever.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Still not mine. :-(

----------------------------------------------------

Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang.

Garret groaned and rolled over, yanking his pillow over his head to block out the noise.

BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!

Muttering choice curses under his breath, he threw back the covers, hastily pulling on a pair of pants before yanking open his front door. When he saw the man on the other side, he swallowed the angry diatribe that had been on the tip of his tongue. It was Woody Hoyt, and he looked _terrible_.

"Look at this," Woody said without preamble, shoving an envelope at Garret. Garret took it, glancing at the front and seeing his own name.

"What's this?" he asked, even as his fingers found that the back of the envelope was sealed.

"You tell me," Woody replied sharply. "It's got your name on it."

Garret ripped open the envelope and drew out a silver key and a letter written in Jordan's handwriting.

"So what is it?" Woody demanded.

Garret scanned the paper, frowning.

"An apology," he said finally. This didn't make any sense. "And instructions…Woody, where did you get this?"

"Jordan left it at my place." He exhaled heavily, running his fingers through his already-disheveled hair. "She came over last night. She told me she loved me, and we…" He cleared his throat, feeling his eyes start to sting again. "She promised me she wouldn't run away. When I woke up this morning, she was gone. She left that for you and this for me."

Garret looked over at Woody. When he saw what the younger man held in his hand, his heart dropped into his shoes.

"That's her mother's locket."

"I know."

"It's a memento of her mother. She wouldn't just give that away."

"I know."

Garret wavered for a moment – Jordan's instructions were explicit that she only wanted Garret involved – but in the end, he couldn't leave Woody out.

"Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"Jordan's apartment." Garret held up the key. "She left something there for me."

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Woody stood awkwardly in Jordan's living room, watching as Garret flipped through a set of something that looked like x-rays. They'd been sitting on Jordan's coffee table, a post-it note labeling them as being for Garret.

"What are those?" he asked finally, unable to take the silence anymore.

"They're MRI films," Garret said, his voice hollow as he lifted one of the films up to the light from the window. "See these white circles, here and here?"

"I see them. What are they?"

Garret shook his head, disbelieving. "They're tumors. This is end-stage brain cancer."

"Why would Jordan leave that here for you?"

He reluctantly handed the film to the detective, knowing the information it held would break the younger man's heart.

"Look at the name on the bottom."

Woody took it, staring blankly at the letters. They couldn't say what he thought they did. It couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening.

"No," he said finally, closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at her name, but the letters still floated in the darkness, permanently imprinted on his corneas. "_No._"

"I'm sorry, Woody."

"No, it can't be true." He gave Garret a pleading look. "Jordan's not sick. She was fine last night. She was _fine_…"

"She's had headaches," Garret reminded him quietly. "She's been worn down lately. I told her I thought something was wrong. She got this MRI done to get me off her back. I never expected it to turn out like this."

"So this – this means that she's…"

"She's dying." Garret sighed heavily, reaching out to touch Woody's shoulder, but the other man shrugged him off. "From this I'd say she probably has a few weeks left, tops."

"So soon?" Woody whispered, running his fingers over the letters that formed her name. They were block letters, harshly formed and radically different from the sloping curves of Jordan's handwriting. He loved her handwriting; it was bold and unrepentantly feminine, just like her. "How can it happen that fast?"

"Most of the tumors are in very dangerous positions, near the places that control breathing and movement. If they get any bigger or shift position and press down on a cranial nerve, it will incapacitate her and eventually kill her."

"Eventually." The word shocked Woody out of his haze of disbelief. "She's going to get sick first?"

Garret looked down at his hands. "Yeah, probably."

"Then where the hell did she go? She's going to need someone to take care of her –"

"No." Garret debated the pros and cons of telling the younger man the truth, and eventually he decided his loyalty to Jordan had to take a backseat to the desperation in Woody's eyes. "In the note she left me, she said she wasn't going to wait around to die a slow, painful death. That's what it would be, Woody. Slow and painful. Constant headaches and nausea, accompanied by seizures, strokes, and paralysis. You know that's not what she would want."

"What are you saying?"

"Jordan is a doctor. It wouldn't be hard for her to get her hands on something that could make her death quick and painless."

"But Jordan…Jordan wouldn't do that." Even as the words left Woody's mouth, he wondered if he truly believed them. Jordan was strong-willed and independent. Macy was right; dying slowly of seizures and paralysis wasn't the death she would want for herself.

"According to this note, she prescribed herself midazolam. It's a sedative, and she's got more than enough of it to euthanize herself. She'll just go peacefully to sleep and not wake up again."

"She won't suffer?"

"No."

Woody looked down at the MRI again, realizing that his blurry vision was due to the tears gathering in his eyes and overflowing down his cheeks.

"She doesn't want us to look for her."

"No, she doesn't." Garret swiped surreptitiously at his own tears. "She left me instructions for her funeral and a copy of her will. She wants us to let her go, Woody."

He was about to protest; Jordan was sick and vulnerable. They couldn't just leave her alone on the streets of Boston to fend for herself. Then he remembered the emotions he'd seen in her eyes the night before, right before she'd kissed him. There had been love there, yes, and desire, but there had also been fear. He'd thought it was the fear of rejection, but now he realized she'd been afraid her illness might incapacitate her before they could share the night they'd both waited so long for. That night had meant as much to her as it had to him; more, even, because she'd known it would be the last time they were together. He couldn't go after her if she didn't want him to. He had to respect her wishes…he had to let the memory of that night be his last memory of her. That was what she would want.

"I won't chase her," Woody said finally, giving the MRI one last look before setting it down gently on the table. "I won't chase her…but I'll never let her go. I'll always love her."

Garret cleared his throat, swallowing hard as he patted the other man's back in sympathy.

"I love her, too," he agreed quietly. "And neither one of us is ever going to forget her."


	8. Chapter 8

The morgue staff's reaction to Garret's somber news was about what he'd expected. Lily burst into tears, Bug launched into an angry diatribe, and Nigel flat-out refused to believe him. He sent Lily home, rebutted Bug's arguments, and followed Nigel out of the conference room and into his office.

"Nigel –"

"No, Dr. M.," Nigel said firmly, not looking at his boss as he flopped into his desk chair and opened up his laptop. "This can't be right."

"I've seen the MRIs –"

"Then they were _wrong_!" Nigel ran his hands through his hair, still not looking at Garret. "They're wrong, and I'll prove it."

Garret comtemplated him for a minute, trying to decide if it was worth it to argue with Nigel right now. If the tall Brit stuck to his usual pattern, he would be immune to any and all arguments until he decided he was ready to hear them, and Garret would be wasting his breath.

The dull ache in his chest decided him. He was already hurting enough from losing Jordan. He'd let Nigel face up to the truth when he was ready.

-------------------------------------

Three hours later, Nigel was staring at his computer screen, eyes wide in shock. When Bug walked into the office, Nigel grabbed his arm, ignoring his exclamation of protest, and pointed to the computer screen.

"You see this?"

"Yeah, I see it, but what does it mean…" Bug's voice trailed off, and he looked over at his officemate, stunned. "My God…I can't believe it."

"That makes two of us."

"You've got to tell Dr. Macy."

They exchanged another look, and then Nigel jumped out of his chair, disconnecting the laptop's cords and sprinting alongside his coworker to Dr. Macy's office.

Macy was sitting at his desk with a glass of scotch when Nigel and Bug arrived, both out of breath and grinning. He set down the glass, giving them an inquisitive look, and Nigel unceremoniously deposited the laptop in front of his boss.

"Dr. Macy, look at this."

The urgency in Nigel's voice pulled Garret out of his brown study. He looked at the screen of the criminalist's laptop, frowning at the image on it.

"It's Jordan's MRI."

"_A _ Jordan, yes," Nigel agreed, excitement rising. "But not _our_ Jordan."

"Nigel, what the hell are you talking about?"

Nigel pulled up another screen, showing Jordan's MRI next to a normal scan.

"Look at the names on these," he told his boss, pointing at the bottom of the screen. "This one is Jordan Cavanaugh, and this one is also Jordan Cavanaugh."

"What?"

"Two different patients," he explained. "Two different Jordan Cavanaughs. They had appoinments at the Radiology Center on the same day. One of them is our Jordan, but the other –" he pulled up yet another screen, showing two separate patient ID files, "- is a patient at the BUMC oncology center and has been for two years. He's also male, and his date of birth is exactly fifteen years off from our Jordan's. The MRI that shows advanced glioblastoma? That's _his_, not hers."

"Wait." Garret looked up at the other man, hardly daring to hope. "So you're telling me that there was some sort of mix-up?"

"Exactly. They must not have checked the year on the birthdates, and they gave the wrong MRIs to the wrong Jordans. Our Jordan is perfectly healthy."

Garret sat back in his chair, stunned.

"Nigel, this – this is great news. This means Jordan's all right…why are you shaking your head?"

"Remember the prescription she wrote herself? Dr. Macy, _we_ know she's not sick, but _she_ doesn't. We have no way to reach her, and you and I both know she's planning to kill herself with that sedative. We have to find her before that happens."

"Damn," Garret breathed, reaching for the phone. "Nigel, get back on that computer and find her, whatever it takes. Maybe we'll get lucky and she'll use a credit card."

"Right. What are you going to do?"

Garret looked at the receiver in his hand, feeling the dread rising in his chest. "Somebody's got to tell Hoyt."


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: I've never been to Boston. Keep that in mind if you have, and are offended by my lack of geography knowledge. :)

Disclaimer: Not mine. ::le sigh::

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"Let me make sure I've got this straight," Woody said slowly. Garret had called and insisted that he come over to the morgue post-haste, and when he'd arrived the other man had dropped a metaphorical bomb on his head. "Jordan's not dying of brain cancer. She just thinks she is. So now we have to find her and stop her before she does something stupid, like kill herself."

"That's pretty much the situation."

"This is insane. This is…what are the odds that something like this could happen?"

"Very low," Garret admitted. "But it _did_ happen, and now we've got to find Jordan. Do you have any idea where she'd go?"

Woody shrugged helplessly and Garret sighed.

"We put out an APB on her," Nigel interjected from behind them. "Lily and Bug are out searching all her favorite haunts. Unless she's left Boston entirely, I have no idea where she is."

"I don't think she'd leave Boston –"

"I saw Jordan!"

All three men turned toward Lily, who was standing in the doorway, breathless and windswept.

"Where?" Garret demanded, going over to her.

"On Broad Street, leaving the Wyndham Hotel. She was hailing a cab. I tried to catch her, but I lost her in the crowd."

"I'm going to the Wyndham," Woody informed them, jumping to his feet. "Maybe the desk clerk will recognize her picture, be able to tell us something helpful. Nigel?"

"Right behind you, mate."

----------------------------------

"Sure, I remember her…the brunette with the cute a–" At the icy glares both men shot him, the concierge cleared his throat nervously, looking down at his computer. "Room 1412. She checked out early this morning."

"Have the maids gotten to the room yet?"

"I wouldn't think so," he said, shaking his head. "They start at the ground floor. That room probably won't be cleaned before one this afternoon; check-in isn't until two."

"Right," Woody said, extending his hand to the concierge. "I need the key. Now."

-----------------------

The hotel room was merely nice, but the view was absolutely amazing. The entire city was laid out in a beautiful panorama, the Charles winding through it like a sparkling ribbon. Nigel took a moment to appreciate it, understanding why Jordan would have wanted to experience this. Woody, however, had already zeroed in on what he hoped would be the hint they needed to find Jordan. A sheet of paper lay discarded on the queen-sized bed. Woody grabbed the piece of paper off of the bed, scanning it quickly.

"Nigel, I think I've got something."

Nigel looked away from the window, inquiring, and Woody held up the paper.

"It's a list of random stuff, and it's in Jordan's handwriting."

Nigel came over to stand next to the young detective, reading over his shoulder.

" Fenway Park, St. Cecelia's, the old house, the Wyndham hotel…they're all places. And they all have check marks next to them."

"So do these," Woody added, pointing. "Talk to Garret, say goodbye to Mom, tell Woody –" His voice caught in his throat as he read the words and knew, suddenly and terribly, what he was holding in his hands. "This is Jordan's to-do list. She thinks she's dying, and this is her list of everything she wants to do before she…"

Nigel patted the detective's shoulder tentatively as Woody dropped the paper, burying his face in his hands.

"We'll find her, mate," he assured the other man. "Look, the things she's done are checked off, right? So we just find what she hasn't done yet, and that's where we'll find our girl."

"Right," Woody agreed, exhaling sharply and rubbing his eyes before picking up the list again. "…here. It's the last thing on the list. 'Swann's Way, Tisch.'" He frowned, glancing at Nigel. "What's that?"

"I have no bloody idea," the Brit replied, pulling out his cell phone. " But Dr. Macy might."

Woody returned his attention to the list as Nigel spoke with the chief ME. There were smudges through some of the words on the paper – tear tracks, he realized. It tore at his heart that Jordan was suffering so much anguish over a lab mix-up. He could only hope they would find her before it was too late to save her from herself.

"It's a book," Nigel informed him as he hung up with Macy, dragging Woody out of his introspection.

"What?"

"Swann's Way, by Marcel Proust," Nigel elaborated. "A French classic. Personally, I never had the patience to read French literature –"

"Where can she get it?" Woody interrupted. Nigel sighed, running his hands through his hair.

"According to Dr. M., pretty much any bookstore or library in the greater Boston area."

"Damn," Woody swore, looking back to Jordan's list for some sort of clue. "Wait. You said the book was by a guy named Proust?"

"Right."

"Then who is this 'Tisch'?"

"Not who," Nigel replied, his eyes widening in sudden recognition. "Where. Tisch is a library at Tufts University. Jordan went to school there."

"Where is it?"

" Medford, off Boston Avenue."

"What are we waiting for? Let's go!"


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Not mine. If it were, there would be way less plot and way more kissy-face.

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_She poured out Swann's tea, inquired "Lemon or cream?" and, on his answering "Cream, please," said to him with a laugh: "A cloud!" And, as he pronounced it excellent, "You see, I know just how you like it." This tea had indeed seemed to Swann, just as it seemed to her, something precious, and love has such a need to find some justification for itself, some guarantee of duration, in pleasures which without it would have no existence and must cease with its passing – _

" Jordan!"

She tore herself reluctantly away from the book, realizing only after she looked up that no one should be yelling her name. No one here even knew her name…but there was Woody, running toward her in complete disregard for the cultured atmosphere of the stately second-floor reading room.

She couldn't get away from him now; he was too close. Instead, she found her bookmark with numb fingers, marking her place before setting the book aside and rising to greet him.

"Woody…" She bowed her head, closing her eyes against overwhelming emotions. "You shouldn't have come here."

" Jordan, shut up and _listen_ to me," he demanded. Her eyes flew open in surprise; Woody had never spoken to her that way before.

"What –"

" Jordan," he repeated, taking her hands in his and looking deeply into her eyes. " Jordan, you're not dying."

"Oh, Woody," she sighed, squeezing his fingers as her lips quirked into a sympathetic half-smile. "I'm so sorry…if there were anything I could do, believe me, I'd do it. You know I'm a fighter. There just isn't any treatment for this. I've accepted it, and you're going to have to –"

"No, you don't understand," he interrupted, shaking his head. "The MRI – the one you saw? It wasn't yours."

"What?" she said again, unable to believe the words. It wasn't hers? But that would mean…

"There were two Jordan Cavanaughs in the radiology department that day, and there was a mix-up with the records. The other Jordan already knew he had cancer; he's been seeing an oncologist for the last two years. You saw his MRI. Yours was normal."

"God," she breathed, her knees going suddenly weak when his words sank in. Woody caught her before she could fall, helping her sit down. "Woody, are you serious?"

"I saw your scan myself. There's nothing wrong with you, Jordan."

"Nothing?" she repeated dumbly, and he shook his head, kneeling down in front of her.

"Dr. Macy said you have a textbook brain," he elaborated. "You don't have cancer. And I need you to tell me that you haven't taken those pills you prescribed yourself."

"No," she whispered, half-surprised that he knew about them. Sure, she'd told Macy in the letter she'd left for him, and she'd figured he'd tell Nigel and Bug, but she hadn't really expected them to tell Woody. Something about the young detective's naiveté made them all want to shelter him from the harder truths of life. "No, I – I wanted to finish my book first. Swann's Way…I never got through it in college." She smiled weakly at him. "One of the great regrets of my life. The last one I've got left."

" Jesus, Jordan," he breathed, and then his arms were around her, pulling her to him in a crushing hug. "I thought I was going to lose you. If you weren't here, I wouldn't have known where else to look."

"How did you know I'd be here?"

"Lily saw you leaving the Wyndham this morning," he explained, resting his chin wearily on the top of her head. "I found your list in your hotel room. This was the last thing on it; the only thing that wasn't checked off. I took a chance and got lucky. Thank God I found you in time."

"I'm not dying," she said softly, the words strange on her lips. "I'm not dying…"

Without warning the floodgates holding back her emotions broke, and tears coursed swiftly down her cheeks. Woody held her as she started to sob, rocking her gently in his embrace.

"It's okay, Jordan," he whispered, his hands rubbing soothing circles on her back. "Everything's okay now."

He let her cry herself out on his shoulder, trying to ignore how good it felt to have her in his arms again. For all he knew, she'd change her mind about their relationship now that they were actually going to have the opportunity to _have_ a relationship.

When she'd collected herself, she straightened up in her chair, pulling away from his embrace, and his heart sank.

"Woody," she began, but he shook his head.

"Look, Jordan. You told me that you loved me…you promised that you wanted to be with me, that you didn't want to leave me. I'd hold you to your promises, but the situation was pretty unusual. I mean, you thought you were dying. So if you – if you want to take them back –"

She pressed a trembling finger to his lips, quieting him.

"I thought a lot about my life this week," she whispered, silent tears slipping down her cheeks. "And I realized all of the things I've missed out on because I was scared to get too close to people. I don't want that with you, Woody. I don't want you to be the one I remember…the one I let get away. I love you, Woody, so much that it hurts just thinking about not having you in my life. Please don't leave me. I can't lose you again."

He pulled her into his arms, kissing the top of her head as she started to cry in earnest.

"You will never lose me, Jordan," he promised her, softly but firmly. "I love you more than anything else in this world, and I am never going to leave you. I just had to make sure you still wanted this now that it's not just for one night. I want you forever, Jo. I've always been playing for keeps."

"Then you win," she told him, snuggling against him. "I'm done running, Woody. I want to be with you."

It was shaping up to be an extremely poignant moment…and then Nigel came sprinting in, a wide grin spreading across his face at the sight of Jordan alive and unharmed.

" Jordan!" he exclaimed, flinging himself at the pair and engulfing them both in a hug. They all laughed, joy mixed with relief, and Jordan felt a stinging at her eyes that had nothing to do with sorrow. It had taken a death sentence for her to figure out how much she loved the people in her life, and now the sentence had been lifted. She had a lifetime to keep on telling them just how much they meant to her, and she was going to put it to good use.

--------------------

A/N: My God, it's finished! I thought it would never happen:) And they lived happily ever after...


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